


better off dead

by ornery



Category: Return of the Living Dead (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Bullying, Ernie is 55/56, F/M, Kentucky - 1980s, Madge is 17/18, Older Man/Younger Woman, Slight Canon Divergence, Slight Canon-Compliant, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:29:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23683174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ornery/pseuds/ornery
Summary: TAGS WILL BE ADDED AS STORY PROGRESSES.Madge Johnson is your average, suicidal teenager until she meets mortician Ernie Kaltenbrunner, who gives her a purpose in life.How long will that last?
Relationships: Original Female Character/Ernie Kaltenbrunner (The Return of the Living Dead (1985))
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Time of the Season

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yesterday, my copy of The Return of the Living Dead (1985) workprint version arrived. After watching it in its entirety, I got unbelievably inspired, so this is the product!
> 
> This story will take place a few months before the events of the film. Eventually, the events of the film will occur. I will be taking elements from the cinematic version, the workprint version, and the original script; that is why this is considered slightly divergent from canon, but also slightly canon-compliant.
> 
> * (05/19/20) Minor grammar changes. Does not require reread.

October, 1983

Nighttime found Madge clearing off her desk and boxing up her belongings. Some items of importance were laid out in perfect alignment. Her wallet, Social Security card, pencil case, plush hippo, and Yahtzee dice game were plucked from drawers and plotted across her bureau.

Lack of organization would make situations difficult for those who eventually came to sell her possessions – not that she had amounted much anyways – and she chose not to be an annoyance in death as well.

The yellow Post-It note was attached to the back of her door.

Holding the tell-tale orange bottle in one hand and her Walkman in the other, she made herself comfortable on the bed. She still slept in the same Josie and the Pussycats duvet from when she was ten. It seemed almost dirty to sully such innocence with the big sleep, but there was no time to change them now.

Before this, she had contemplated a long list of methods. None of them had been to her liking, though. A razor to the wrist would be too painful. Hanging would be too time-consuming. An oven would be too public. A gun would be too much of a mess for her mother. 

All she would have to do was unlock the safety seal, pop as many pills as she could, and sleep forever. It was for her. She saw strangers on the news channel do the same thing and get the results they wanted. Her father's cousin made an attempt once, but woke up choking on her own vomit. It wasn't for everyone.

She wondered idly how long it would take before she was found, doubting that anyone would bat an eyelid if she been hadn't seen for several days. She had never been about for quality socializing.

Her parents weren't supposed to return for another hour. Wednesdays were their 'date nights,' and they didn't like being disturbed during them. Frank was a warehouse supervisor for the Uneeda Medical Supply Company. Molly didn't work; she was a stay-at-home mom ever since Madge was born. Luckily for them, after tonight, they wouldn't be interrupted again.

She supposed that her friends would be the first to notice. Bright-eyed Tina would realize and convince the others to tag along. Tina was like an older sister to her; she was constantly supervising, constantly nagging about everything Madge did, possibly more than her own mother.

Tina would cry. Molly would too. Frank definitely would.

As her eyes bore into the clock on her nightstand, guilt began to wag its crooked finger at her conscience. Her composure started to wear at the continuous momentum, the passing of time, the tick, tick-tocking. 

She hoped that her gravestone wouldn't have an odd inscription like, "Here lies Madge 'Madge-bear' Johnson" or "R.I.P. to the girl with the prettiest smile and the ugliest laugh". She needed some dignity in death, seeing as she wouldn't get to decide what she was going to wear at the wake, funeral, and burial.

Madge had a pretty little number hanging in her closet. Wrapped in cellophane, it had never been worn, saved for only the most splendid of events. Her interment was an appropriate occasion.

Despite trembling with fear, she held herself still and mentally braced. She closed her eyes, placed the headset over her ears, and turned the device on. A soothing tune started to echo, "It's the time of the season when love runs high. And this time, give it to me easy. And let me try with pleasured hands..."

She cracked an eye open. The mattress springs creaked. She twisted the cap and shook the pills into her palm. Rolling the capsules around with her thumb, she groaned.

Should she take one at a time? Should she stuff the entire bottle's worth down her throat? Should she bake a pie, stick them in as if they were berries, and eat it?

Death was imminent. Death was anticipated. She was seventeen with applications mailed to Stanford University and the likes, and an entire world not yet explored in front of her. But she just wanted to bite the bullet – or, in her case, the dust. Kick the bucket. Give up the ghost. Hop the twig. Feed the worms. Off herself. Meet her maker. Push up daisies. Take a dirt nap.

The music drowned out some of her thoughts, gave her the motivation to act. She held a white capsule between her fingers and pushed it past her lips. She scrunched her nose at the chalky taste left on her tongue. The closest she ever got to taking drugs was being force-fed Flintstones multivitamins at the age of five.

One down, twenty to go. Though Madge wasn't exactly sure of how many pills she had to take, she had heard that the more she ingested, the more effective they would be.

By doing this, however, she wouldn't be going to heaven.

When she was seven, Madge was brought to Sunday mass at church and was taught the wonders of the afterlife. The girls who were considered good went up to heaven and became angels. The bad girls went down to hell and burned for eternity. 

She was a bad girl, so she didn't believe in heaven. Good girls didn't disobey their parents. Good girls didn't sneak out of the house and dance at clubs with older kids. Good girls didn't commit suicide.

Madge shook her head and swallowed another capsule. She tried to listen to the song and think positively. The crooning continued, "To take you in the sun to promised lands. To show you every one. It's the time of the season for loving..."

She would be relieving several people of her presence. No longer would she be a bother to those she loved. She wouldn't hear, "Just go away, Madge!" and "Do something to make us proud, Madge!" and "You're absolutely hopeless, Madge!" anymore.

There would be no school to attend, no job to clock in and out to, no expectations to strive for, no anything. There would be pure, unadulterated freedom. She would be living in an existence where she wasn't judged for who she was. She took the third capsule. 

And then, her bubble of a dark paradise burst.

What tugged Madge back to reality wasn't a chorus welcoming her through release, but the front door opening suddenly and her mother calling, "Madge-bear, we're home from dinner!"

She thrust the handful of pills away from her mouth, swearing. "Impeccable timing, as usual, Mom," she grunted. She shoved the evidence of her suicide attempt under her pillow seconds before her mother entered her bedroom.

"Hi, honey," Molly greeted with a smile. "How're you doing?"

Madge sighed, "Fine, Mom. Dinner was good?"

"Dinner was great! Your father drank a little too much, so we had to cut it short, but the lasagna was delicious– Wait a minute. Did you clean in here?" Surprise wasn't the right word to describe her mother's tone; suspicion fitted better. 

"Uh, yeah. Thought it was time," Madge laughed uneasily, patting her pillow. She changed the subject, "Is Dad already in bed?"

"You know him well. I should be asleep too. I'll see you in the morning," said Molly. She leaned forward to kiss Madge's forehead and walked to the doorway. "Goodnight, honey. Love you."

"Goodnight, Mom. Love you too."

She struggled to keep her tears at bay as she watched her mother leave and close the door behind her. She shrunk under the Post-It note staring at her, reading:

_I have no purpose._

_Goodbye._

_Love you,_   
_Madge_


	2. Mannequin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has been coming so easily to me. Hopefully, I don't lose this streak!
> 
> * (05/19/20) Minor grammar changes. Does not require reread.

Having consumed three sleeping pills the night before, Madge slept right through her alarm and subsequently missed her eight o'clock History class. She rushed through her shower and scarfed down her breakfast so she wouldn't be marked absent from Algebra as well. 

But school was the least of her worries.

It seemed that being a complete failure was her specialty. She couldn't even kill herself, much less do anything else deserving of people's attention. She was utterly pathetic.

What would have happened if she took the rest of the pills after Molly left her bedroom?

She wouldn't be curled in the passenger's seat while being forced to listen to her mother sounding her disapproval. And she absolutely wouldn't be regretting her decision to forgo suicide. 

Molly was nice enough to drive her to school, but not without lecturing her about appearances and permanent records the entire ride. She balked, "You're graduating in less than a few months, honey. College isn't going to be lenient with tardiness. Maybe you could go to bed at a reasonable hour or set your alarm for earlier."

"Mom, you know I don't like sleeping in an empty house. I wanted to wait until you and Dad were home," Madge whined. Although the initial half of her statement was true, the second was not. She tried not to let it bother her. She slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses before a headache formed.

"I think I have a prescription for Flurazepam in the upstairs' bathroom cabinet. I'll let you try one when you get home from work. How's that sound?" Molly suggested, tapping Madge's knee.

If the poor woman had an inkling of her daughter's attempt to overdose on those very pills the night prior, she would have collapsed on the spot.

Madge knew that Molly's intentions came from the right place. Ever since her birth, Molly's whole world revolved around her baby girl, from sunrise to sunset. She moved heaven and hell for Madge, and that included allowing her to have a drug that should have been prescribed by a doctor first.

"Thanks, but I'll have to pass."

Her mother parked the car in the school's roundabout. She said, "Well, the offer is always there, dear. Now, have a good day, okay?"

Madge hopped out of the passenger's seat and raced for the entrance. "Uh-huh. Bye!" she called over her shoulder.

In the hallway, a group of sophomore girls surrounded a drinking fountain. The first thought to cross Madge's mind was to avoid them. When she hurried in the opposite direction, she heard giggles ringing like bells behind her.

The nerves in her body were on ice. She stopped dead in her tracks and demanded, "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing. I thought Halloween wasn't for a couple of weeks," piped the shortest of four. At this, they exploded into another horrendous fit of laughter, reverberating off the lockers.

School was a breeding ground for monsters. The girls, who were maturing and growing in more ways than one, would gossip about anything their polished fingernails could pick at. The boys were no better by flaunting their letterman jackets and sexual endurance. 

Madge managed to tolerate the bitching and the bragging. And yet, there were many times – like this one – where she fought the urge to break their skinny bones.

Red with embarrassment, she glared at the sophomores' make-up, permanents, sinewy arms and necks, and the way they shook together. Her hands trembled into fists. "Yeah? Well, I thought this was a school, not a strip club!" Madge snapped. 

She stomped away in lieu of enjoying the exasperated looks on the sophomores' faces. She was still late.

-

Madge arrived just in time for her next class. She would have to remember to thank her mother for driving her; Molly could have easily made her take the city bus or let her suffer the consequences of missing a whole day of school.

Nonetheless, she was also regretting her decision to wake up before nine-thirty. Had she slept for a little bit longer, she wouldn't be going to Algebra.

She despised Algebra for several reasons. Her assigned seat was in front of Casey, a bubble-headed party girl who unfortunately frequented Madge's friend group. Also, she was fairly certain that the teacher held a grudge towards her because she once gave 'sixty-nine' as a joke answer to a problem.

When she situated herself at her desk, she savored the five seconds of peace before Casey's shrill voice buzzed in her ear. "Hey, Madge! I didn't see you in History this morning. Didn't think you'd show today," Casey sneered.

Spinning woodenly, Madge winced at the sight of Casey's broad smile and leaned back on instinct. She said, "I decided to grace you with my presence later than usual."

"I haven't seen Freddy all week. Is he still coming tomorrow night?"

"How should I know? I'm not his—"

"God, don't get all defensive," she interrupted. "I was just wondering."

"Go wonder to someone else. I'm not some messenger girl."

Casey smirked, "Hm, you're more of a call girl, right?"

Madge turned around to face the blackboard and mumbled under her breath, "Says the girl who let Daniel feel her up in sixth grade."

Tina scrambled into the desk beside her. She emptied her backpack and organized her belongings, sending a glare in Madge's direction. "You overslept again, didn't you?" she stated rather than asked.

"But I woke up, didn't I?"

A scowl formed deep grooves on Tina's forehead and near her nose, erasing the bouncing youthfulness in her features. She sighed, "Something's gotten into you lately, Madge. You're acting different. I don't like it."

The teacher entered the classroom, and muttered, "Alright, good morning, everyone. Take out last night's homework and pass it forward."

There was a sudden synchronic moment as the students unveiled their paperwork from their bags. Madge glanced at her Algebra folder, found no trace of an assignment, and gave her friend a nudge. "What was the homework?" she whispered.

Eyes bulging, Tina hissed, "Honestly, Madge! It was—"

"Miss Johnson, do you have your homework?" the teacher grimaced.

The volume and intensity of his voice didn't shake her in the slightest, but she bit her lower lip at the threat of being humiliated in front of her peers. "No," she snorted. She watched him huff in annoyance and continue on with collecting the papers.

Pleased with the rest of the class's cooperation, the teacher launched into an overview of the day's topic: variables and expressions. The students started their basic note-taking, a routine that Madge would leniently participate in from time to time, but today, refused to.

Resting her elbows on top of her unopened textbook, she cradled her cheeks in her hands. The desire for sleep was pulling her backward. It was evident that the Flurazepam had yet to leave her system. 

In time, she dozed off, enveloped in a place of her own imagination. Dreaming was much more fun than solving equations. Screw Molly. Screw Casey. Screw Tina. Screw her teacher.

"Miss Johnson!"

Madge almost jumped two feet in the air. She thought the enraged look the teacher aimed at her was going to burn a hole through her forehead. She didn't want to know how intently her classmates, especially Tina, were staring at her.

Depositing the chalk on the tray with unnecessary force, the teacher approached her desk. He was ranting, "Thinking it's okay to sleep in the middle of class. Is there something wrong with you?"

"Yes, actually. A lot of things," Madge retorted hotly.

Casey interjected, "She's right, you know."

"Freak!" a voice from the back row whooped.

"Enough! Detention, Miss Johnson. Meet me in the gymnasium at two," the teacher barked.

Madge found herself on her feet, yelling, "I have work after school!"

"Then you should have thought about that before slacking off."

It took all the willpower in the world for Madge not to scream, "Sorry, sir. I was too busy trying to kill myself last night instead of doing your stupid, fucking homework!"

She dropped back into her chair in defeat.


	3. People Are Strange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so it seems like I've been pumping out chapters at a pretty good pace -- every two days. I'm going to try to keep it that way :)
> 
> * (05/19/20) Minor grammar changes. Does not require reread.

Madge was a punk.

She liked to listen to loud, obnoxious music. Her favorite bands were the Dead Kennedys and Black Flag. They spoke of non-conformity and injustice, and other issues that the run-of-the-mill pop songs on the radio didn't address.

She liked to dress in black leather jackets and messy plaids. She stuck safety pins into her ripped jeans. Studs dripped from her body like jewelry, reaching her high-top boots. Her friend, Trash, helped dye her hair – which had been a natural blonde – lavender in January, silver in May, blue in July, and then bright teal in September.

She liked to argue with her parents over their political views. Constant fights occurred when she opened her fat mouth and voiced her opinion and conspiracy theories on the presidency, the government, and the society.

She liked to sneak out in the middle of the night and go to clubs. Her fake ID hadn't failed her yet, and she was free to follow her friends, drink, and dance to her heart's desire.

But, according to her parents, there came a time in everyone's life where they had to recognize their worth in the world, or in other words, grow up. It had happened to her grandparents, her aunts and uncles, and Frank and Molly. It had even happened to Madge, although not by her choice.

She had visited the outlets in the shopping center, from the signet jewelry shop to the trading post, in the hopes of being hired. But her lack of experience, late attendance, and unsettling appearance had hindered her. Most of the proprietors had been polite with their rejections. However, the man at the deli had been close to calling the police at the sight of her.

Reluctantly, she had filled out an application to the Uneeda Medical Supply Company. Thanks to her father, Madge had been slipped to the top of the consideration list. She had then been interviewed by the owner, Burt Wilson.

Burt had been a family friend for years. Ever since she was young, he attended several barbecues and birthday parties. He often referred to himself as 'Uncle Burt' and wanted her to call him that too. 

If she was honest, Madge thought that Burt was a bastard. Something about his necklaces and silk shirts made her skin crawl.

She had to endure the agonizing string of questions and remarks that only people over fifty said, "Haven't seen you in a while, huh? You grow three inches every time I see you. You're taller than my wife. School must be good. College is only around the corner, you know. How's your mom and dad?" 

"They're all right."

"Good, good. Now, enough small talk. Why do you want this job?"

"My dad said I need one," Madge had said bluntly. About ten people had denied her a job earlier that week, so she wasn't going to get her hopes up because her father worked for the guy.

She had received a good-natured laugh, "Boldness will get you places, little lady. Frank mentioned once or twice that he'd like you to work here. But I'll admit I didn't believe him 'cause it sounded too good to be true. You can start Monday after school."

While she stuffed her résumé in her bag – seeing that there was no need for it then – Madge had listened to Burt drone on about how the job won't pay much at first. He had mentioned that it wasn't difficult either; it consisted of managing paperwork, keeping track of the merchandise, and tidying up before closing.

After a few months, she knew the entire building from top to bottom, except for the basement. Both Burt and her father forbade her from going down there.

She was the intern for a year now. Always tardy, always rude. Anything to get fired, but Burt was relentless.

Detention came and went. At three o'clock on the dot, Madge ran for two miles, roughly thirty minutes, from the school to the Uneeda lot. By the time she burst through the warehouse door, she was panting and sweating and almost drooling. "I'm here!"

Her father turned to look at her. "Young lady, where have you been? Do you have any idea what time it is?" he frowned. Though he wasn't nearly as easy on her as his wife, Frank treated Madge like she was still ten years old. He coddled her, but would never admit it.

Once she caught her breath, she replied, "Sorry, Dad. I had to say after school for Sewing Club. Where's the boss?"

"In his office. He's not happy you're late."

She hummed and mosied her way to her boss's office. She drummed on the doorframe to announce her presence. "Hi, Uncle Burt," Madge grinned, positive that her cheeks were a fiery red.

"Madge! What took you so long?" Burt cried. "Ah, nevermind that. I need you to make a delivery for me. Twenty gallons of formaldehyde to a funeral home. Usually, I'd have one of the stock boys do it, but the last one just quit, and... you know..."

"But I don't have my own car. And my dad still won't let me drive his after—"

"Yeah, yeah, he told me about that. It's only to the next street over. The Resurrection Funeral Home. You know that one? My old pal, Ernie, works there, and I promised the stuff by today," he said. "Can you do a favor for your Uncle Burt?"

She took a moment to consider. Then she nodded, "Of course."

-

Just across from the warehouse, the dilapidated Resurrection Cemetery stood, with metal chains linked around the entrance and graffiti staining the gates. The Resurrection Funeral Home was equally run down and on the other side of the acre-long plot of gravestones and mausoleums.

Madge tugged the wagon full of chemicals along the road, grumbling obscenities to herself each time a wheel nicked a pothole. She wished today would just end already. Put her out of her misery.

At last, she was able to see the funeral home at a close distance.

"Oh, shit," she hissed. There were cars packed in the parking lot and lining the sidewalk, and people dressed in black scattered around the entrance. Her incredible luck had her transporting formaldehyde right into the middle of a wake.

Ducking out of sight, Madge spotted a trail that led to the back of the building. She sighed in relief. She snuck past the crowd, dragging the containers along. 

It was mostly barren, save for some lone cars parked near the trees. A dirt road lay between the home and the cemetery. Thankfully, she saw a steel door attached to the building.

Madge knocked twice and wasn't kept waiting before the door swung open to reveal an older man with vivid white hair. Blood painted the front of his apron and his gloves. "Can I help you?" he asked, clearly surprised to see her.

She found herself stammering, "Um, hi. I'm Madge from the Uneeda Medical Supply Company the next street over. Burt sent me to deliver your formaldehyde, but uh– um, I didn't think it'd be a good idea to roll it by the mourners. So... here I am."

"Oh. Well, it's nice to meet you, Madge. The name's Ernie. I'd shake your hand, but uh–" He waved his red-stained gloves for emphasis. "–As you can see, that's not a good idea. Come in, come in."

He stepped away so that Madge could pull the wagon inside. She did so willingly. Should have considered the dangers of following a stranger who was literally dripping with blood, but que será, será.

The first thing she noticed was an unmistakable human-sized shape beneath a tarpaulin sheet on a table. The second was the assortment of jarred organs beside it. She felt her heart sink to her large intestine.

"It was smart of you to bring the supplies to the back. Normally, we frown upon visitors in the embalming room, but I think we can make an exception this time," Ernie said nonchalantly. "You can set those over here."

"What can I say? I'm second-coming of Einstein," Madge sneered. She started taking each bottle and placing them on the floor by a shelf of chemicals.

He chuckled, "Did you start working for Burt recently?"

"Nope, I started interning there a year ago."

"And you do deliveries now?"

"God, no. Burt is making me do it this one time today. I mean, I could've gotten out of it, but I felt like I needed to 'cause I was already late after getting detention– Sorry, I don't know why I'm telling you this," she scoffed. She heaved another container from the wagon.

"No worries. It's just that you're a lot better than the usual guy who delivers. Always manages to bust something up in the process. You, on the other hand, are being pretty careful."

"Thanks. It's not every day I get to cart dangerous shit to a mortuary."

There was a lapse of silence where Madge continued to plunk bottle after bottle down. She glanced at Ernie and caught him staring. 

Creep much?

Blanching, she cleared her throat, "So, uh, what do you do here?"

"I'm the embalmer. Hence the..." Ernie gestured toward the body. 

"Uh-huh. You like being an embalmer?"

"Yes, ma'am. I love it. It's the most exciting job around," he said. He caught the skeptical look on Madge's face, and insisted, "No, honest. You never know what's going to come through those doors until it's too late. You're on your toes all day, every day."

"Really? That sounds way more fun than what I do."

"When you get to be my age, a profession is more important than fun. You just have to make the profession fun. Make sense?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Madge straightened her shoulders and stretched. She sighed, "Well, that's all of them. I can go through the front this time."

"Let me walk you out. Just give me a second." He tugged his gloves off. Chalk turned his fingers white like a ghost's.

"You sure?" she found herself asking. 

"It's no problem," he smiled. He put a hand on her lower back as he escorted her through the corridor. Though his touch was foreign and should have made her uneasy, it was reassuring.

Ernie didn't seem like a creep. 

It would be hypocritical of Madge to judge him by his looks. So what if his ears stuck out a little? So what if his eyes were sunken in by dark circles? So what if his nose was too big for his face?

Sure, he acted a bit odd, but he was polite, and appeared to have good intentions. He was nicer than any other stranger she met as of late. And for an embalmer at a funeral home, that was saying something. 

At the door, his hand left her back, and he said, "If you ever have to deliver here again, you're free to come in through the embalming room."

"Cool. See you around," Madge offered him a smile, which he returned.

No, Ernie definitely wasn't a creep.


End file.
